


The Big Picture

by zoicite



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-28
Updated: 2011-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoicite/pseuds/zoicite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There would be another Raph, a Dershowitz waiting to jump in line, and if Marshall didn't say something, finally, directly, he'd always wonder if they could have worked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Picture

It had been one of those days. One of those days that started out normal enough until suddenly everything went to hell and then it was action, action, action, and finally they were all left standing around feeling exhausted and lucky to have emerged unscathed. It had, if one wanted to get technical, actually been two and half days since Alfie Shaeffer told Marshall that he’d been calling his mother back in Chicago for the last three months.

Two and a half days later, a hitman was dead and Alfie Shaeffer had a new new last name and a new address, and Marshall and Mary stood behind their respective desks and let the events of the last few days fall from their shoulders.

“Bar?” Mary asked, when all was said and done and Marshall just nodded and followed her out the door.

They sat side by side at the bar, rarely talking. Marshall swirled his glass, listened to the clink of the ice in his rum. The lime circled in the little whirlpool he’d created.

Three months. He should have picked up on this Alfie thing sooner. He needed to be more thorough. He needed -

“Stop beating yourself up,” Mary said.

Stop reading my mind, Marshall thought. But she didn’t need to read his mind. He wasn’t saying anything and to Mary that automatically meant that he was dwelling. She wasn’t usually wrong.

“I’m always missing the little things,” Marshall said aloud.

Mary set down her beer and turned to him.

“Are you joking?” she asked. “Marshall, if you paid _more_ attention to the little things - I almost can’t handle your anal retentiveness as it is.”

She went on for a while longer, something about having Marshall fired from his job and forced to leave the building at gunpoint if she had to deal with him paying _more_ attention to little insignificant ridiculous details. Marshall sipped his drink and listened, smiled a little at Mary’s impassioned rant. His eye kept catching on her finger. It looked so strangely naked now that Raph’s ring was no longer on it. Marshall thought there was still a slightly visible tan line there, a faint band of pale skin where the ring used to sit.

It had been a while now and Marshall was still distracted by the rings absence. It made sense. It‘d taken him months to adjust to its presence in the beginning too. That was worse.

Anyway, Mary didn’t want to talk about Raph.

“You’re great at your job,” Mary said, concluding her pep talk. “Now shut up, finish your drink, and stop driving me crazy.”

Marshall nodded and stopped staring at Mary’s hands, turned back to his drink.

“You know why they called it rum?” he asked.

Mary sighed heavily, but she seemed relieved when she said, “No, Marshall. Why did they name it rum?”

**

Marshall fumbled with his keys at the door and eventually Mary huffed and grabbed them from his hand, shoved him aside. He stood close behind her as she unlocked the front door to his house, pushing it open and stepping inside. Then he followed and they were both standing there together in the dark.

Mary hit at the wall and then said, "Where the hell is your light switch? Who designed this house?"

He reached around her to turn on the light. They were too close, packed together in the hall, and when the space was flooded with light, Marshall caught sight of her naked finger one more time, remembered the afternoon that Raph moved out. Mary hadn’t wanted Marshall there, didn’t need back up, but when her car wouldn’t start afterward, she’d called him. They hadn’t talked about it, but her eyes had been red. That was a couple months ago now, Marshall realized. The tan line on Mary’s finger must be in his head. It wasn’t like it had just been a few days. Mary’s car was in the shop again. It’d been a couple months.

And that was when Marshall grabbed Mary by the shoulders and kissed her.

She was stunned at first, but Marshall was pretty sure he felt her kiss him back for just a moment before she got over the hurtle of that initial surprise and started pushing at his shoulders.

He released her and she wiped at her mouth and said, “What are you doing?”

Marshall opened his mouth, ready, he thought, to say what he wanted. He wanted to try this. He needed to try this or he'd wonder his entire life. There would be another Raph, a Dershowitz waiting to jump in line, and if Marshall didn't say something, finally, directly, he'd always wonder if they _could_ have worked.

"Marshall," Mary said and grabbed his shoulder. "You look like you're going to throw up."

It was a few shots of rum. Enough that Mary insisted she drive his car home, not enough that he’d actually needed that ride. Not enough that he was going to puke all over his living room floor.

"I'm not drunk," Marshall said, but that was it, he thought, he’d come to his senses. The moment had passed.

“Then why did I drive your car home?” Mary asked. “Come on.” She started guiding him into his own house as though he’d fall over without her help. He rolled his eyes where she couldn’t see him and let her help him make it to his own couch. Once there he collapsed onto it and she leaned over him to make sure he wasn’t going to pass out.

“I’m really not drunk,” Marshall assured her. “My tolerance for alcohol has not dramatically changed since the last time we had a couple drinks.”

“Okay,” she said and grabbed his keys from where she’d dropped them on his coffee table. “I’ll pick you up in the morning then.”

“Great,” Marshall agreed. “Don’t do anything to my car.”

She leaned down over him, took his chin in her hand and tilted his face up to try to look him in the eye. They hadn’t bothered to turn on any of the lights except for the one in the hall, so she was left squinting at him now in the dark.

“If you’re not drunk, why did you just kiss me?” She asked after a long moment.

“Oh, right. It must have been because I’m drunk,” Marshall said.

Mary laughed, which was what he’d intended. She was still holding his chin and he didn’t realize what her next move was going to be until she was already leaning in, kissing him lightly on the mouth. Marshall had no intentions of pushing her away, ever, and she seemed to realize what she was doing too late, froze there.

And there they were, in limbo, Mary’s lips warm against his, the kiss chaste, frozen, unmoving. Mary was staring at him, so close it was ridiculous, and Marshall knew that if someone didn’t start to do something soon one of them would start to laugh and he’d lose his chance.

He leaned forward, tried to kick start the kiss, and it only took a moment before Mary seemed to catch on and started to kiss him back. It escalated quickly from there until before Marshall knew it, Mary was on the couch with him, straddling him, her thighs pressed to either side of his. His hands were on her ass, his tongue was in her mouth. Mary’s hands held his head as she kissed him, as though she really thought he might stop this now if she let him go.

She wasn’t drunk either. He knew that. She’d had three beers, had carefully peeled the labels off of all three bottles as they sat there at the bar. He also knew that this entire thing was probably related to Raph somehow, to Mary trying to move on from Raph, or not being able to move. He knew that he should say something, should offer to talk about it, should stop this right now, but Mary sucked at his tongue and all Marshall could manage was a low groan of encouragement into her mouth.

When she finally did release him, it was to shrug out of her jacket, her mouth still on Marshall’s as though unwilling to lose that contact even long enough to remove her coat. Marshall let his hands slide toward her waist, his fingers catching in the hem of her tank and then pushing it up. He must have been moving too slowly because she huffed against him and then knocked his hands away and pulled the shirt up and over her head.

The kiss was broken by the action and now, a few inches apart, they stared at each other, unsure how to start again. Mary was shirtless and straddling Marshall’s thighs. Marshall was disheveled and aroused and willing himself not to speak because he knew one word out of his mouth would ruin all of this.

“What?” Mary asked eventually, her voice laced with just a touch of defense.

Marshall shook his head and cleared his throat. “What? Nothing.”

“I thought you were going to say something,” Mary said.

“No,” Marshall promised. “I don’t want to say anything.”

**

It was eerily quiet in the car.

Marshall ached from sleeping all twisted around Mary on his couch. He wanted to stretch, something, but he was afraid that moving would disrupt the delicate equilibrium in such a small enclosed space, so he gripped the steering wheel a little too tight and drove.

Mary had woken with a start and before Marshall had even opened his eyes she was up and gathering her clothes. She pulled on her underwear and fastened her bra in what had to be record time. It looked insanely efficient to Marshall at any rate. It wasn’t a good sign, the scramble for clothes, but it could be worse. She could have grabbed all of her stuff and run into another room while screaming obscenities at him. That seemed like an unlikely reaction considering how _little_ alcohol had been involved, but one just never knew with Mary. She could have left Marshall to wake up alone.

Marshall didn‘t realize that he was just sitting there staring at her as she dressed until she rolled her eyes and said, “Okay, stop it. It‘s time for real life now.”

“Sorry,” Marshall had said and wiped a hand across his face to stop himself from smiling. It had been a pretty great night. He cleared his throat, then found his boxers hidden half beneath the coffee table and pulled them on.

Now in the car though, it wasn’t pretty great. It was mostly just really -

“Okay," Mary said. "This is weird."

It probably would have been less weird if there had been more alcohol involved.

If he was honest with himself, Marshall had been surprised to find Mary there when the sun came up. He’d sort of expected to wake up alone. He’d expected that Mary would have woken up in the night, would have freaked out and run. He’d expected her to take his car. It probably would have been less awkward than this.

Marshall pulled up in front of Mary’s house.

“Do you want me to wait?” Marshall asked.

“No,” Mary said, stretching to grab her jacket from the back seat. “No, I’m going to shower and change and call a cab. I’ll meet you at the office in an hour.”

“I’ve got to go check in with the Kritzers,” Marshall said.

“Do you need me for that?” Mary returned.

“No,” Marshall said. He’d been telling himself to shut up all morning, but he had to say _something_. He went with, “So what is our plan here? Are we going to pretend it never happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

"What?” Mary said, her brow knit in disbelief - Marshall‘s first tip that he should have stuck to the keeping his mouth shut route. “No, we‘re not - I don‘t know. We‘re not talking about it _now_ okay?"

Marshall nodded, his fingers firmly gripping the steering wheel. “Okay,” he said, and watched as Mary moved to get out of the car.

**

Marshall was stopped at the longest stop light in all of Albuquerque. He’d been timing them. This one was definitely the longest. He stared at the empty intersection and tried to think about the Kritzers, about the pile of paperwork on his desk, about anything but what his mind kept inevitably drifting back to.

“I don‘t want to say anything,” Marshall had promised. He didn’t know where to look. He didn’t want to stare at Mary’s breasts, was worried that anything he did might turn her away.

Mary had thought over his response for a moment. Too long. The entire thing had just shifted back into the realm of awkward and it was killing Marshall, sitting here with Mary on him, her breasts and her hips and her mouth puffy from kissing. Marshall had to do _something_ before Mary freaked out and left him sprawled on his couch, pathetic, aroused, and alone.

It was all in his court. All of the proverbial balls.

He reached up, careful not to touch Mary as his arms moved past her, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Marshall kept his eyes on Mary’s face as he unhooked each button, as he shifted a little and pulled the ends of the shirt out of his jeans. He was worried to have the focus on him, worried that Mary would see him and come to her senses. Mary’s eyes were on Marshall’s hands though. Her hair hung over her face, brushing the tops of her breasts, the ends curling under the edges of her bra. Once his shirt was unbuttoned Mary reached out to push it off his shoulders, then began pulling on his undershirt, pushing that up until it was off and over his head.

They were moving again, hands on each other and it was pretty clear now that this was actually going to happen. They’d survived the awkward moment in the middle, and now they were moving forward again, Mary’s hands on Marshall’s belt as she kissed his bare shoulder.

“Your belt buckle is huge,” Mary breathed against his shoulder, and Marshall couldn’t help it, he laughed. She’d done it on purpose, the breathy tone, the emphasis on the word huge. He’d been so worried, but it didn’t ruin anything. Instead Mary kissed him again and now she was smiling too.

After that it was scrambling hands and shifting bodies until finally Mary’s jeans were gone and Marshall’s were down around his ankles. And then Mary wrapped her hand around Marshall’s erection, skilled and sure, and Marshall held on to her, leaned in to finally press his lips to Mary’s naked breasts.

“Please tell me you have a condom somewhere on this couch,” Mary said, leaning down close to his ear.

“In my wallet,” Marshall mumbled, tongue on Mary‘s skin.

He‘d been smart enough to remove his wallet in the scramble to get out of their clothes and Mary reached for it from where he‘d discarded it on the couch beside them.

The car behind Marshall honked loudly, repeatedly. The light was green.

**

"What are these?" Marshall asked, walking into the office after his appointment with the Kritzers (during which he’d been overly suspicious of everything they told him to the point where he was pretty sure they thought he’d gone off the deep end. The last thing he needed this week was a repeat of the Alfie Shaeffer incident) to find a vase of flowers sitting on his desk.

Mary looked up from her computer. She was chewing on the edge of her thumb, but she stopped now and said, "They're flowers."

"What are they doing here?"

"What do you mean?" Mary asked. "You _like_ flowers. You probably know the name of every flower in that vase. You know quirky little details about them."

"Did someone send you flowers?" Marshall asked. He remembered the phone call shortly after they’d returned from Denver and was sure suddenly that the flowers were from Faber. He’d called Mary again, Marshall was sure of it. Great timing, really, as though Faber _knew_ that things had turned a corner in Albuquerque, just had to make sure he was still in the running.

"No, Marshall," Mary said. “No one sent me flowers.” She was done with him now and she turned back to her computer monitor.

Marshall plucked the card from the stick tucked in behind chrysanthemum. He read it quickly and then sat down at his desk, shrugged off his jacket, read the card again. The flowers weren't for Mary. The flowers were _from_ Mary.

He looked up at her, but she didn’t look back. She was making sure to stare intently at her computer monitor instead.

**

Mary’s mouth was open against his as they moved together. He kissed her jaw with his tongue and his teeth as he thrust up into her. Jesus, he’d been wanting this for years. He’d wanted it even before he was able to admit it to himself. Kissing Mary, touching her this way. He didn’t let himself think about it often. They were friends, partners, and the last thing Marshall needed was to be sitting beside Mary on the job thinking about how more than anything he wanted to bury his face between her legs and feel her come wet on his tongue.

He wasn’t going to get the chance to do that tonight. He hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t planned, and now Mary was fucking him, moving with him, her fingers on herself so that Marshall could feel their tips against his dick as he slid out and back in again. It probably wouldn’t have been a good idea anyway. Too intimate, crossing a line. It would have been too much focus on Mary, too obvious what Marshall wanted, how he’d felt for so long. She would have run.

Mary’s tongue licked into his open mouth and Marshall sucked at it, thrust up into her, memorized the sound she made in response. If this was their only shot, Marshall was going to remember everything. Even the little things that everyone ignored. The way her nostrils flared a little with each puff of breath, the prickle of the short hairs on her legs. It’d been a few days since she’d bothered to shave, probably a week Marshall guess. Marshall ran the palms of his hands over them, liked the roughness, the scratch of the hairs. It fit her. He ran his hands up her thighs, held onto her. She removed her fingers to give him more room and he pressed his thumb to the patch of hair, adjusted his hand so that he could press closer, his thumb rubbing right beside her clit as she moved.

Mary moaned and pressed closer. “Don’t move,” she said.

She was rocking faster now, rubbing against him, her hair a curtain around their faces. Marshall wanted to stay here with her for days, but he wasn’t going to last another five minutes at this rate. She was gripping his shoulders, then cradling his head again, and she kissed him, once, twice, quick wet kisses, distracted and present at the same time. And then suddenly she sucked in a short breath and her hand flew down to cover his, her fingers pressing his thumb down against her as she gasped and shuddered. When it had passed, she leaned in to kiss him again, smiled that slightly crooked smile that he’d always loved.

Marshall needed more leverage to finish this, took a chance and began to shift. Mary took the hint and laid back on the couch so that Marshall had a better angle. He crawled over her, couldn’t help himself as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to the inside of her thigh, tasted her on his lips. He wanted to linger, but didn’t. Instead he kissed her stomach, then her breasts, and finally back at her mouth. She was watching him, a little dazed still, and Marshall wondered how many times he could push her over the edge. He wanted to get her there again and again until she was a wreck with it, until she couldn’t remember anything else, not the job, not her family, not Raph. Jesus, he was going to come just thinking about it and held his dick for a moment, tried to get control over himself.

“Marshall,” Mary said, getting impatient now.

“I know,” Marshall agreed. He slid back into her, and it was almost enough right there. He moaned and rested his forehead on her breasts for just a moment, collecting himself before he began to move. It didn’t take long. She wrapped her legs around the back of his, her hands on his ass urging him forward, and his thrusts were deep and fast. It couldn’t have been a full minute before Marshall felt the entire room compress and then explode within him, lights, trumpets, all of it.

Mary was watching him, her eyes soft, but her mouth twisted just a little as though she was trying to suppress a smirk. He must have cried out or made a ridiculous face at the end. It didn’t matter though. He didn’t care and when she brushed her thumb across his cheek, it was pretty clear that she didn‘t either. It was just one of the little details that she’d store up, use to create a memory. Probably not the most flattering part of the memory, but she turned her head to kiss Marshall anyway, wrapped her arms around him.

She probably wouldn’t be there in the morning. Now that the urgency of the evening was over, she’d lie here and think about what they’d just done, where it might go and what it might mean. The big picture. She would be gone by the time he woke up. That was okay. Marshall would deal with it. They’d deal with it together. He wrapped an arm around her. He felt her fingers run lightly along the length of his forearm, up and down, and he held her tighter and closed his eyes.

**

"You got me flowers," Marshall said later when they were back in the car. Mary needed a new car. Or she needed a shop that would give her a loaner. Wasn’t Brandi dating a car guy?

“I did,” Mary agreed.

“Wasn’t Brandi dating Peter Alpert?”

“Yes,” Mary said. “And now she’s - I don’t really know what she’s doing.”

“Why don’t you bring your car to him? Maybe he could get you a loaner or something.”

"I don’t need a loaner, I have you. You don’t live that far from me,“ Mary pointed out. “Marshall, you _like_ flowers.”

“But you don’t want to talk about anything,” Marshall confirmed.

“Why do we have to talk about this? What is there to talk about?” Mary asked, and the fact that she would even say that, the fact that she could think there was nothing, just showed how messed up Mary Shannon really was, just showed what an asshole Marshall was to let a couple shots of rum get them into this position in the first place.

Oh, stop lying to yourself, Marshall thought. The rum had nothing to do with it. It was the ring. It was his chance. Take a fucking chance.

“You wrote ‘Enjoyed the ride’ on the card,” Marshall said.

“Listen, I walked by a florist this morning and there was a sale, I didn’t know what to write and I thought it would be funny,” Mary said. “Let’s not make a big deal out of this, okay? I promise I’ll never buy you flowers again.”

“So did you?” Marshall asked.

“Did I what?”

“Enjoy the ride?”

Mary’s mouth fell open and she turned away to look out the window. Marshall thought that that would be it, the end of it, but when Mary finally turned back toward him her face seemed just slightly flushed. It was probably his imagination.

“Yeah,” Mary said, finally. “Yeah, I did.”

“We’re not going to - “

Mary made a face, scoffed. “What do you think, Marshall?”

Marshall nodded, could think all he wanted about taking chances, but still knew it was for the best. Marshall would be good at this, he thought. He’d be good for Mary. But Mary was awful at this kind of thing. She’d fight him, she’d lash out, she‘d push him away, and then she‘d leave. She was the only real friend he had. He was the only friend she had. It was definitely for the best.

“You know,” Marshall said. “Chrysanthemums are usually funeral flowers. They represent death.”

“What?”

“The flowers,” Marshall said. “They’re chrysanthemums. In Europe and parts of Asia they’re symbolic of death.”

“They were on sale,” Mary reminded him. “They’re pretty.”

Marshall shrugged and stared out at the road.

“They’re not death flowers,” Mary said after a long moment. “Us having sex isn’t killing anyone. It‘s not going to kill - whatever - us. It‘s not a big deal.”

“Oh, now you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Mary said. “I just don’t want you to freak out and get weird.”

“Is that why you got me flowers?”

“The flowers were obviously a mistake,” Mary admitted. She stared out at the intersection. “Jesus, this is the longest light.”

“I’ve been timing them,” Marshall agreed. “Haven’t found one longer yet.”

Mary slapped her thigh. “That’s great, Marshall. Time well spent.”

“You know, in some countries they’re symbolic of honesty,” Marshall noted.

“What?”

“The chrysanthemum.”

“Come on,” Mary sighed.

The light turned green and Marshall continued. The rest of the ride was silent, but when Marshall pulled up in front of Mary’s house, Mary paused long enough that eventually Marshall said, “We’re here.”

“Okay,” Mary said, shaking out her shoulders and turning toward him. “Let’s talk then.”

“About what?” Marshal asked.

“Come on, you want to talk,” Mary said, waved a hand to get him moving. “Let’s talk.”

“Uh, okay,” Marshall started, suddenly unsure of where to go with this.

“You want to do it again?” Mary guessed.

Marshall made a face, laughed nervously, lied. “Of course not,” he scoffed. “I mean, unless you do. If you do, I could probably be convinced.”

“Seriously, Marshall. Answer the question seriously.”

“Yes,” Marshall gave in. “Given the choice, I would want to have sex with you every day, more than once if possible.”

“Well,” Mary said. “That’s a problem.”

“I don’t think it is,“ Marshall disagreed. “I’m very good at denial.“

“No,” Mary said. “That’s not why it’s a problem.”

“Why then?”

“Chrysanthemums mean honesty, huh?”

“In some cultures,” Marshall confirmed.

“Well, since it’s apparently a chrysanthemum kind of day and I like honesty better than funerals, most of the time - Anyway, I guess I better tell you that I wouldn’t mind repeating last night either. Repeatedly. Maybe.”

“I think you just convinced me,” Marshall said.

“As long as things don’t get weird.”

“Huh,” Marshall said, pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth.

“What?”

“Things are definitely going to get weird,” Marshall said. He wanted this more than anything, but come on. This was Mary they were talking about here.

“Okay,” Mary said. “How about as long as it doesn’t interfere with us, with the job.”

“I think we could probably handle that,” Marshall conceded. “We’re responsible consenting adults, right?”

“Most of the time,” Mary amended.

“We‘re responsible adults most of the time, right?”

“Sure,” Mary said. “Okay.”

“So we’re - “

“I think so, yeah,” Mary agreed.

“Oh.”

“Do you want to come inside?” Mary asked. “I live alone now, you know. Got the place all to myself.”

“That’s very responsible consenting adult of you,” Marshall said.

Mary squinted at him.

“What?”

She shook her head and then unbuckled her seatbelt as she said, “Okay, this somehow just took a turn in the direction of - let‘s not flirt, okay? I’m going into my house. If you’re not in there with me in five minutes I’m locking you out.”

Marshall sat there frozen for a just a moment, watched as Mary walked toward her house. He was sick of standing by and wondering if he and Mary _could_ work. It was time to stop dwelling on the details. It was time for try for the big picture.

Marshall turned off the car. He wasn‘t going to need the full five minutes.


End file.
